


Q's Slave

by ContinuumGroupie



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Finger Sucking, Lots of sucking how did this happen, M/M, Master/Slave, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Nipple Play, Ownership, Post-Canon, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContinuumGroupie/pseuds/ContinuumGroupie
Summary: Q's fascination with Picard has always been a mystery. Until Q finalizes the sale.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Kudos: 10





	Q's Slave

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first slash, and I might add to it, but I'm new to this. Right now I'm going to mark it as complete.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate feedback. Or let me know if you want more?

One moment Picard was alone in his quarters, and the next he appeared in another place, naked and gagged. There was a shuffling crowd around him composed of hundreds of other humanoids, who were gagged and bound as he was. Immediately Picard fought from being crushed between them. A loud voice spoke, and the crowd calmed to listen.

There was no universal translator. It was a jumble of words, and Picard could only understand one among them: Slave. The voice didn’t speak for long before the crowd began vying for space again. Picard pushed them back as best he could, but he began to grow weak from the exertion.

When he started to fear he might collapse under their feet, he was saved. An unseen force plucked him and placed him on a high stage.

From the stage, Picard could see over the crowd. He could see the room was impossibly large, almost like space itself in its vastness. He couldn’t see the entities watching him, but he could perceive the mountains of their presence as if telepathically. They were like kings staring down at a small, miserable mammal. They were dozens in number, some more attentive than others. One in particular seemed familiar to him — the one who was paying him the most attention, near the front. Picard knew him somehow. Knew it was a _him_ , somehow. But without the benefit of his sight, he couldn’t begin to place the memory.

He could feel an emotion wafting off the entity. Something greater than affection. Adoration. But what a strange emotion for this inhuman place, he thought. What a strange emotion to be directed towards him, naked and weak as he was.

It was the sort of experience that would have terrified anyone, but he kept a cool head for as long as it lasted. Eventually he was returned to the Enterprise.

He spent weeks trying to learn what had happened. He searched all the databases available to him but learned nothing helpful. The ship hadn’t noticed he was gone. No one else reported any out-of-body experiences. He was given a clean bill of health by the doctor, and was able to complete all his duties as usual, so he stopped short of telling them the details. He said only that he’d disappeared, gone to a strange stadium-like place, and come back. They were all treating it like a hallucination, and eventually he agreed with the interpretation.

The part about “Slave” seemed particularly disturbing to him, however. He could never shrug it off.

Then Q appeared.

Q told him it had happened. He knew the day, he knew every detail Picard had tried to forget. He had been the one to fetch Picard there, the one to bring him back, and the one watching from the darkness. There was nothing mocking about the way he spoke. He was in his deathly serious mood, which only disturbed Picard more.

“What are you talking about?” Picard demanded. They were standing in his quarters, where Picard had just discovered Q.

“What you experienced is a slave market,” Q said. “I know you don’t like the idea of that, but it’s not a savage free-for-all. There’s protocol when purchasing a slave. First, there was a 5-year waiting period. I had to prove to them I was serious about you. That protects you. It protects everyone. And it’s only natural I was making up my mind, trying you out. I’d have been fond of you without this, but honestly, why else would I keep you alive? Why else would I stick my neck out for your species?”

Picard felt too stunned to speculate. “What do you mean, protocol?”

“I knew you wouldn’t like that word. The gag was to keep you quiet. You can’t argue it’s not the best tool to do that. And slaves are restless when they’ve crowded in that many. They haven’t had a market in two years… I think the slave master wants to retire.”

“This is ridiculous,” Picard said. “No one owns me.”

Q looked at him proudly. “I do.”

“You must own someone to sell them. I am as free as anyone else.”

“That was never true, unfortunately. Almost everyone is for sale; it keeps beings like me from churning through a thousand of you in a day. I suppose you’ll want to argue about ethics next, but I’m really not in the mood. I’ve been drowning in paperwork for a month. Come here.”

Q reached out to Picard. Picard slapped his hand away before it could make contact, stepping back.

“This is a foolish game. I won’t play.”

Q smiled at Picard’s effort — only a flicker, then his smile fell. “Sales are final.”

“It’s nonsense,” Picard said. “You’ve said nothing to me. Words. Meaningless.”

“True. It’s not as if purchasing you has granted me any _extra_ power over you. I had the power to enslave you all along. The only difference is, it’s legal now. There’s not a being alive who can take you from me.”

Now Picard was speechless.

“Don’t despair,” Q said. “You’re not going to be miserable. I intend to let you keep your life, most of it.”

Q had been inching towards Picard, and Picard had been inching back. He felt his bed behind his calves and stopped. It was beginning to sink in that he had no recourse. His eyes darted to the door, a foolish instinct to run. But of course running would solve nothing. This was Q.

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to imagine some way to resist. He only had his words. They had worked before. He looked up at Q.

“Whatever you imagine this will be, I will _not_ comply—”

Q was watching him with what could only be called compassion. He held up a finger, and Picard stopped talking.

“Certainly you will always put up a fight. I wouldn’t want you any other way, _mon capitan_. I’ve seen this going two ways. One, I bend you over right now and take you by force. I pleasure you so thoroughly you won’t be able to imagine yourself as separate from me. It is an appealing thought.”

Q smiled to himself, then continued, “Two, I convince you through the slow, dull process of making an argument. I would certainly win you over, but how boring. You're so stubborn. It might take years. No, I’m much more interested in skipping ahead to the part where you agree with me.”

Q snapped.

It was a curious sensation. Picard suddenly saw things entirely differently. He was Q’s slave. That fact was still new to him, but it was no longer shocking. In fact it seemed obvious. How could it be any other way? Q was infinitely superior, of course Picard was the slave in this relationship. Otherwise what a badly designed universe it would be!

He was beginning to feel a growing gratitude about it when Q interrupted his thoughts.

“You did that very well. I always knew you had a more flexible mind than you let on. Now, as my slave, you will do as I say, correct?”

“Naturally,” Picard said.

Q laughed a low, melodic sound. “I should have done this years ago. I could have kept it a secret if the Continuum weren’t obsessed with me back then. And remember when I was human? In your holding cell? Remember how you looked at me with such contempt! My, how the tables have turned for you. But I will enjoy you, darling. There’s the difference. You would have cast me off. Hm, how shall I began? You are willing for me to begin, aren’t you?”

“You may do whatever you wish,” Picard said. He didn’t give it a second thought. It seemed natural to be sitting on his bed waiting for Q’s command.

Q folded his arms, frowning down at Picard, thinking.

“Touch your nipples,” he decided.

It was such a small, crude request. But of course, if that was what Q wanted? Picard began to fondle his left nipple.

“Both hands. Stroke them."

Quickly, he moved his second hand into position, rubbing his skin through the fabric of his uniform. It felt surprisingly good, better than it usually did. Pleasure rippled from the area. He groaned slightly, arching his back.

Q laughed again. “I could stop you there and be completely satisfied with my purchase.”

“Shall I stop?” Picard asked. His mind was becoming foggy with the pleasure.

“Not yet. Good. _Good_. All right, you may stop now.”

Picard let his hands fall, sitting idly. He felt the growing bulge inside his pants, but he knew better than to do anything with it. He wasn’t sure _how_ he knew that, except that Q was in charge now.

Q sat on the bed beside him, his eyes moving up and down Picard’s body. Eventually they settled on Picard’s eyes.

“You’re very handsome. Surprisingly, I’ve never told you that before. Do you know you’re handsome?”

“Some have told me. It means more coming from you.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“You’re far more experienced. At least I'd presume.”

Q nodded. “Kiss me,” he said simply.

Picard felt a rush of excitement at the thought. He leaned forward to kiss Q, their lips touching. Q’s mouth remained shut, but Picard teased at his lips, enjoying that plenty. He scooted closer to Q, trying to improve his angle. Perhaps if he tried harder it would convince Q to return the kiss.

Then Q touched his shoulder and Picard leaned away, his smile fading.

Q’s enormous, lazy eyes took him in.

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you to do that. You would have. You would have enjoyed it exactly as you’re enjoying it now. You are enjoying it, aren’t you?”

“Very much,” Picard whispered.

“Well, I would kiss you back, but I'm still getting used to this. I don’t know, maybe if you were better at it. We’ll play it by ear.”

Q told him again to rub his nipples, watching with great amusement as he did. “You look absolutely ridiculous. The proud Captain Picard. My, you like that, don’t you.”

Picard’s erection strained against his uniform. He wished he could remove his uniform altogether. The fabric was beginning to chafe his nipples, but he didn’t dare without an order from Q.

He watched Q watching him, feeling some minor discomfort physically, but emotionally a great contentedness. He belonged here. He belonged to Q, and it was good to entertain him, humbling to have his undivided attention.

It wasn’t long before Q vanished and Picard could leave his overstimulated nipples alone. Not knowing what else he should do, he opened his pants and finished himself off.

He thought of Q as he did. It was as strange as everything else, because he knew he would have been horrified to find himself like this, an hour ago. He had never thought of a man like this before. But thinking of Q felt as natural as thinking of the many women he had loved over the years. Mostly he thought of Q’s eyes, and the soft, sensuous curve of his lips. He didn’t need to imagine anything more. There was something wholesome about how erotic he found Q’s face, especially when compared to his less-than-wholesome fantasies about the women.

He awoke the next morning and went about his day as usual. He felt calmer. One of his junior officers neglected their task in a way that would have normally angered him. Instead he patted them on the back and told them to put it out of their mind.

By the end of his shift, the previous evening was beginning to feel distant and dreamlike. Was he really Q’s slave? Had it been a dream? It _felt_ like a dream. But there was a difference, something that couldn’t be a dream. It was the knowledge — the complete conviction — that being Q’s slave was acceptable to him. And he was certain that earlier yesterday he would have been abhorred at the idea. Instead of this discrepancy upsetting him, he just thought with a bemused smirk, _What a strange thing life is_. _How many twists and turns it can take._

He entered his quarters that evening to find Q lounging on the sofa, drinking a cup of steaming liquid and reading from a padd.

“It _was_ you,” Picard said, feeling relieved.

Q nodded. “Good evening, _mon capitan_. Yes, it was me. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to your new life in short order. It was always leading up to this. Come, sit.”

For half an hour Picard sat with him while he read. He became hungry, but he didn’t dare say anything about it. His hunger could wait, but Q may leave at any moment. He hoped he wouldn’t.

“Isn’t it better this way?” Q purred. “I, for one, do not miss our fights. No, we were meant to have an easy relationship.”

Picard agreed with him. He told Q how much calmer he had felt that day, more at peace emotionally, and how grateful he was for that. Q seemed distracted. 

“Let’s try a little more,” Q said, interrupting him. He set the padd aside and focused on Picard.

“I want to see what else you can do with your mouth.” Q held up two fingers.

 _Well if he purchased me_ , Picard thought, _it_ _’s only natural he wants to observe such things_. He lifted his mouth over Q’s fingers. He slid his lips up and down them, caressing them with his tongue, readjusting his seat to find a better angle.

Q made an amused sound, jabbing his fingers deep into Picard’s throat. Picard gagged at first, but recovered as adeptly as he could manage. He tried to make up for his slip, focusing on recreating something he would want to experience himself. He hoped he was doing a good job. Out of all the duties he performed that day, this was by far his most exciting, earnest work.

Q lowered his fingers down, down until they were level with his waist. Picard followed.

“Well, this is certainly a preview,” Q said, letting Picard suck him for another long moment before withdrawing his hand. He patted Picard’s head, leaving a dab of saliva there. He wiped his hand on the knee of Picard’s uniform.

“Sit straight. Wipe your mouth. You know I purchased your mind, not just your body? I think I’d like to see that thoughtfulness Starfleet raves about. Kiss me, but not on the lips. You decide where.”

 _His neck_ , Picard thought. _Keep it tasteful._ He kissed Q’s neck, again and again, working his way around it. As with the evening before, he felt excited to be able to do so. It was less humiliating than rubbing his nipples or sucking on his fingers.

Eventually Q pushed him back. He stood in front of the couch, his chin raised. “We’ll move slower. So, go about your evening. As if I’m not here.”

Picard did. He was hungry, so he chose dinner. Q watched him eat, but the entity couldn’t resist himself and eventually gave direction about _how_ Picard should eat. With his fingers, then only with his mouth lowered onto the plate. “Lick it clean, please.”

When that was done, Picard read for a while. Q joined him. As they read, Q took Picard’s hand, entwining their fingers, caressing them absentmindedly.

Picard went to wash himself, his nightly sonic shower. Q interrupted him with a murmur of disapproval. “A body like that deserves better.” He opened an old-fashioned door that hadn’t been there before, leading Picard into a marbled room with a clawfoot bathtub that was two times larger than it needed to be. The sides came up to Picard’s chin.

Tall windows showed a view of a mountain range and a dozen, impossible waterfalls. But they were real, of course. If Picard looked closely he could see avian life.

Q ran the bath, then sponged Picard as if noting every mole and freckle on his skin. He asked about each scar, and knew the stories of the ones Picard had forgotten about. Picard had never felt so thoroughly cared for.

Afterwards Q dried him off using a giant blanket of a towel (still wearing his mock captain’s uniform). The light of the setting sun illuminated Picard's pale, naked skin. Q hummed some airy tune.

When Picard was dried and dressed (in boyish striped pajamas that showed off his legs), Q led him back into his quarters and tucked him into bed. As Picard reclined onto a new, larger pillow, Q offered him a single finger to suckle on. It seemed odd to Picard, but he took it in his mouth. He stared into Q’s loving eyes. The taste of Q's skin was musky, salty. It seemed to make him more drowsy, and he had less and less energy to suckle. Eventually sleep caught him.

How strange it was! How surprised his crew would be if they knew. Each evening Q arrived to — for lack of a better word — to parent him. Picard was left alone during the day, to live his life exactly as he normally would: his gruff, regimented self. He slipped between the two modes easily, enjoying the control of his command and the childlike helplessness of his quarters in equal measure.

Usually whatever Q ordered him to do was chaste. Humiliating, yes, but chaste. Instead of snapping Picard instantly into a new outfit like he used to do, he ordered Picard to change in front of him. Q’s outfits had become more and more elaborate so that sometimes it took Picard nearly half an hour to work through it. But Q was always generous in dictating directions.

“Over your arm. No, not quite as far as that. Tie that lower. Yes, there. Good boy. A bow flatters that strong neck of yours.”

And each night Picard would undress for his bath, and Q would gently lather and wash him, followed by the towel, a cup of warm milk, and bed.

“Don’t I bore you?” Picard asked after a few weeks of this pampering.

“Are you fishing for a compliment, sir? Then I’ll give you one. No, you are endlessly interesting to me. Why do you think I waited 5 years for you, hm? I’m savoring you, Jean-Luc. You’re my indulgent dessert. It would be wasteful to scarf you down. But, eventually, maybe I'll see you differently."

There was a dark overtone to the last part that Picard was uncomfortable dwelling on. The truth was he wouldn’t have been upset if Q had told him these evenings would never end.

Occasionally, Q would have lewd requests. He might direct Picard to masturbate. He had asked this while Picard was changing clothes, in the bathtub, and once during dinner. When Picard began, Q would move to an angle where he could watch it, in full view, not allowing Picard to turn away. That was embarrassing, and Picard enjoyed those orders less, but of course he would never dream of disobeying.

He trusted Q. Even before, when he had hated Q, he had trusted his word.

“May I kiss you?” Picard asked when Q put him into bed for the evening. He wanted Q to feel some of the affection he had felt. He had been insecure about it all day.

“You may,” Q said after thinking about it.

Picard sat up in the bed. He kissed Q on his mouth. Like before, Q didn’t seem to enjoy it, and Picard grew at a loss for how to improve the kiss in some way that would change the entity’s mind. These days Q’s face was no longer erotic enough for Picard's fantasies. He wanted to imagine something more. Being kissed seemed like a gateway to that, if only Q would help him.

But Q did not help him. He continued with the routine like it had never been interrupted. He gave Picard a finger to suck — Picard took it eagerly, looking forward to it now — while Q gently stroked his forehead.

“Goodnight, my darling Jean-Luc,” he cooed as Picard’s eyes lulled shut.


End file.
